


Wanna see you Strut

by rivers_bend



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), American Idol RPF, Real Person Fiction, Tommy Ratliff (Musician)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge, Plot What Plot, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-04
Updated: 2010-05-04
Packaged: 2017-10-09 07:36:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivers_bend/pseuds/rivers_bend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If life were a masturbatory fantasy, the Finnish X-Factor performance might have ended something like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wanna see you Strut

**Author's Note:**

> I do not know any of the people whose personas are mentioned here, and neither believe nor mean to imply that this ever happened or ever will.

Adam doesn't sleep with straight boys (what's the point?), but some of them _are_ very pretty, and a little imagination goes a long way in making one's shower more fun. And one's bed usually—but who has time to jerk off in bed on a whirlwind tour of Europe? Multi-tasking is totally key, and while he's figured out how to get off and steam the airplane dirt out of his pores simultaneously, Adam hasn't mastered the art of wanking while sleeping yet. At least not without making one activity or the other suffer for it.

Someday maybe there will be a pretty boy on tour with him who wants to suck him off after a long day, but for now imagination is going to have to be it. Adam checks the water temperature and steps under the spray—and into the back hall of the X-Factor studios.

They've just come off stage, a little high from the lights and the music and the applause, but still on the way up, not about to crash. For a miracle (and by the magic of fantasy), no one wants anything from any of them. The others drift away to make phone calls home, and Adam's left with Tommy. Tommy in his tight pants and that white shirt and skinny tie that he'd bitched about until Adam told him to shut the hell up and look in a damn mirror, at which point Tommy'd finally said, "Yeah, okay, you win."

Tommy's back hits the wall as Adam crowds him, but Adam just keeps coming, gets his hands on Tommy's ass and slides them down, getting a hold of the back of his thighs, lifting him until Tommy has no choice but to tighten his grip around Adam's neck and wrap his legs around Adam's hips, snugging his junk against Adam's cock.

They kiss, hard and sloppy, until Adam gets his fist around that tie, jerks it, tipping Tommy's head back, slowing him down, reminding him who's in charge here.

"Get your dick out," Adam says, and Tommy does, letting Adam and the wall take his weight, fumbling under his shirt tails to get at his fly.

"Now jerk yourself."

The Tommy in his head jerks himself in time with Adam's soapy-hot strokes, Adam holding his shirt bunched up in one fist with Tommy's tie, his other arm around Tommy's back helping support his shoulders against the wall, Tommy leaning back, watching Adam from under kohl-rimmed lashes.

Tommy's lips are swollen and wet, his face flushed, his ass flexing against Adam's dick with every pull on his cock. He looks rumpled and debauched. Adam has debauched him.

They come together, Adam in his shower and Tommy in Adam's mind, Adam's come washing away, but Tommy's spattering his shirt and Adam's fist, staining his pants, making him look even dirtier.

Adam hears his phone ringing from the bathroom counter, and grabs the shampoo. Whoever it is will have to wait, but he knows they won't wait long. Three and a half minutes later, and Adam's stepping out of the shower. As he dries off and reaches for his phone, he reflects that possibly the best part of his fantasy was that no one wanted anything from him for half an hour. He pulls on his robe and returns Lane's call.


End file.
